THOUGHTS ON THE IMMUTABILITY OF MATTER

I wonder where the cadavers go
Once they’re laid beneath the sod ?
We know, when bereft,
That a body is left,
Though a soul may have gone to God!

This problem I’ve pondered long and long,
It has haunted my dreams and days;
And, I’ve dared to suppose
That they metamorphose,
Reincarnate in various ways.

When the worn-out body is placed at rest,
And it lies in the long, last sleep,
Does it emerge?
On some grass verge
To be cropped by a passing sheep?

Or when hair and nails and muscles and brain
And bones blend into the soil,
Do they, then, come out
As a cabbage or sprout,
To be placed in a pot on the boil?

Thus, poor bodies, absorbed by the earth,
Then dispersed by the wind’s wide range,
Could emerge on the verge
Or come out as a sprout
By the process of chances and change.

We, all unknowing, to replenish our flesh
With vitamins, carbohydrates and proteins,
Could, unwittingly, serve
Dante with the hors d’oeuvres,
And Agrippa mixed up in the greens!

Other Pieces by my Father, Namur King:

Remembrance Day

Aberfan

Hiraeth

Parting 1940

Coal Patterns

Brick Horizons

To Be As One With God

Today has never been before

Ode To A Snowdrop During Wartime

ST. PAUL'S (LONDON MAY 11th 1941)

ODE TO THE FULL MOON DURING AN “ALERT”, 1942

Ode to Goldie, the Golden Eagle on its 10th Day of Freedom

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War & Peace

 

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